


Crap Poetry - Do Not Resuscitate

by TheCharmingSeal



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Bad Poetry, Depression, My Poems, Other, dumping ground, outlet for my depression, please do not repost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCharmingSeal/pseuds/TheCharmingSeal
Summary: My therapist encouraged me to get back into poetry to give me an outlet for my depression: blah, blah, blahThese will be shit.These will be varying degrees of dark.These will have been cooked up in 20 minutes or less.You’ve been warned
Kudos: 3





	1. 07/11/20

  
  


Shackles I start with thee.   
Pick, pick, pick against the lock against the clock. 

Are you my kin?   
Created by me?   
Born from me, part of me?

Or were you gifted to me?   
Passed down by society. Mother to daughter. Father to son.   
Fists around my wrists till your grip begins to slip becomes the topography of my skin. 

That I might one day pick, pick, pick. Against the lock against the rock. 

The echoes of my ancestors.   
Whipped with a thwip as the steel beats the earth as they yearn for the burn of the daylight beyond them.   
  
Misery begets misery begets misery. 

My shackles have no chain. For there is no one location I am tethered  
To my bed  
To my desk  
To your very DNA.

You gave me these cuffs and I kept them, are you proud?

Your memory brings me no solace.   
Your thin hands bring to mind that of skeletons. I politely decline,  
I have plenty of my own. 

Still I pick, pick, pick at the lock against the clock as I rock on the dock of the bay that is my mind and I think

I could be better. I could swim and I could fly but   
these shackles are home  
and I am lonely. 

There is a gap in the left band.   
No skin remains, flesh raw and chafed  
It is enough to fit a finger  
The pain is exquisite and I ache  
to be free

but I am tired

oh so tired

freedom, I think

is not meant for me. 


	2. 20/11/20

Insomnia

Thou art a heartless bitch.  
I don’t mean that but I do  
You twist up my insides  
The sun is the moon  
The sky is the earth and I am buried in it.

I think I’m scared to sleep  
 ~~it isn’t~~  
 ~~it is~~  
Ridiculous.

I don’t dream  
Not really  
I sometimes get flashes and they’re happy  
To see me, they greet me like old friends  
I think I’m scared to sleep  
Because  
That means  
Tomorrow  
Is only  
A blink

Away...


End file.
